I had my first uniform when I was a Cub Scout. I was about eight. I remember the pride I felt when I wore it in the local Memorial Day parade. The blue uniform and yellow kerchief gave me an identity as someone connected to both the community of other scouts and the wider community as we pledged to live up to its motto: “do your best.”
I have had many other uniforms over the decades — as a Boy Scout, choir singer, member of a baseball, soccer, track and swim team, priest, and a bishop. Each uniform not only expressed a dimension of my identity, but visually expressed my commitment to important values — as well as enhancing my confidence.
I remember putting on my first costume the same year I wore my first uniform. It was Halloween. I was the Lone Ranger. I had the cowboy shirt, a holster with a toy gun, and a ten gallon hat. The costume, and particularly the black mask that covered my eyes, enabled me to become someone else. I could act as the “masked avenger”, which was what the Lone Ranger was called on the weekly TV show that ran from 1949 to 1957, which framed so much of my early life.The mask enabled me to hide my identity and take on a completely different persona. The costume gave permission for a heightened sense of aggression, a persona which lasted for only a night
I mention this because — from my perspective — the thousands of ICE agents deployed in Minnesota are not wearing uniforms. They have donned costumes. The masks enable them to both hide their identity and act out in aggressive, and now fatal, ways. Unlike Halloween, which is a one night observance, this costumed ICE deployment has gone on for weeks.They have become the modern “masked avengers” — and have been given permission, —and as I have seen some Department of Homeland Security videos, explicit training to be singularly focussed in rooting out what they have been told are criminals and terrorists. They can hide behind their facial coverings and deny the humanity of others, including their own. The results are not only tragic; they are immoral ,not to mention illegal.
There is a growing orchestra of legal, political and spiritual instruments that are calling for the ICE agents to abandon their costumes and operate out of their uniforms. That could very well reduce the level of aggression. Their faces could then be seen. Their humanity would be exposed. A better option, many insist, is that ICE — their costumes and agents and commanders, leave altogether.
What is heartening in the face of tragedy and cruelty is that so many people are putting on the uniforms of humanity, and doing their best in nearly impossible circumstances. People are filming interactions between ICE and residents, which presents a stark contrast to the false narratives spewed out by the President and DHS. Others are doing shopping for people afraid to leave their homes, or accompanying them to necessary appointments. Whistles are being blown. Informal communities of care are being formed. Solidarity is being built. Cruelty, immorality and illegality is being challenged and resisted. Hope is being claimed.
As those of us outside the Twin Cities watch and react to what is happening there, many of us feel flattened by anger, grief, fear, and despair. How best to respond? How can we make a difference? We want to do something, but are not sure what would make an effective impact. As I join with millions of others who are wrestling with these questions, some insights have emerged. As one who has had a lifelong commitment to nonviolence, anything I do or say needs to be within that framework. In the wake of all that is happening, part of me wants to assume the uniform of a warrior, to fight a growing enemy. But warrior often ends up being wrapped up in expressions or acts of violence, and can have the effect of demeaning or denying the humanity of another, so I rule it out.
What I am learning from the courageous people in Minneapolis is the challenge to take on the role of martyr. Normally we think of a martyr as someone who gives up their life for a cause they are willing to die for. Renee Good and Alex Pretti are certainly martyrs in this sense, even though they had no idea they would be shot and killed. But martyr has a more expansive definition. It means witness. And there are now thousands of martyrs in Minneapolis who are bearing witness with the cameras on their phones, by telling their stories of what they see and hear, and by protesting the immorality and illegality. They are first-hand witnesses. They are taking risks by bearing witness to the injustice and cruelty.
We can join them. A growing martyrdom of witnesses can make a difference.
